


Symptomatic

by Corinna



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Diagnosis, F/M, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-27
Updated: 2005-12-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinna/pseuds/Corinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams." - Hamlet</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptomatic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pun/gifts).



It was a beautiful morning. House’s latest patient was due to be checked out in the afternoon, Foreman had had to apologize to Cuddy for yelling at the kid’s father, and Cameron and Chase were still amusingly on eggshells with one another. Really, House barely needed his soaps anymore. He should have asked for junior fellowships in diagnostics years ago.

He let his good mood carry him through the stacks of _JAMA_ on his desk, and then at lunch he strolled – insofar as a man with a cane could be said to stroll – over to Wilson’s office. “Come on. The cafeteria’s serving bacon double-cheeseburgers as a special. Let’s get two each and sit at the nutritionists’ table.”

“Some other time,” Wilson said. He looked wrecked: his tie was badly knotted, his hair was mussed, and there were faint purple shadows beneath his eyes. He waved at the stack of papers on his desk unconvincingly. “Lot of catching up to do.”

“You look like hell,” House said. “New oncology nurse? Or is it still Betty in Radiation?”

When Wilson got angry but didn’t want anyone to know it, the tendons on his neck flared. “A bad night. At home, thank you. Enjoy your burger.”

“Fine,” House shrugged. “Your cardiologist’s loss.” He walked away trying to look as nonchalant as he’d been when he’d arrived: the damn glass walls on all the offices meant Wilson could be watching him go for a while.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Wilson’s eyes had deeper shadows, and his mood hadn’t improved. “I can write you an Ambien prescription,” House offered.

“I don’t take sleeping pills,” Wilson said.

“Too good to risk addiction like the rest of us dupes?”

Wilson looked at him levelly for a long moment, and there was something in his expression that House couldn’t name. “Oh, I’m stupider than most,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The fourth day, Wilson was banging into the nurses’ desk when he tried to turn corners on the general medicine floor where they'd put House’s latest patient, and Cameron was getting that crinkly look around her eyes that meant she was going to try to fix something. For Wilson’s own sake, House had to sit him down and find out what was going on.

“Let’s go through the obvious ones. Caffeine intake, sugar, dietary changes?”

“I’m not having trouble falling asleep.”

“You’re not? My mistake. The obvious exhaustion threw me off.”

Wilson shook his head. “I fall asleep fine. I just… wake up.”

“Physical symptoms? Elevated heart rate, body temp change, full bladder?”

“I’ve been having dreams.” Wilson was focusing on the trophies on his bookcase in order to not have to meet House’s eyes. “Bad dreams. And I wake up, and I can’t get back to sleep.”

House relaxed a little into his chair. Bad dreams over a prolonged period of time rarely had a physical etiology. Wilson was fine. “Well, for that you’ll have to talk to a psychologist, not a real doctor. No one wants to hear what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them."

Wilson flushed around the white collar of his shirt, and House felt like he’d been slapped.

“I knew I was difficult to work with, but I didn’t realize I was a nightmare,” he said. He reached for his cane, willing himself to stand back up with something resembling gracefulness.

“Greg. That’s not it.”

“Then you’re doing an excellent imitation of a guilty man.”

“I have these dreams,” Wilson said, his voice firm, “and it’s like when your leg got hurt, but Stacy’s not there, and you’re dying, or you’re dead, and I didn’t… I couldn’t save you.” He spread his hands fatalistically. “And then I wake up, and I can’t fall back asleep.”

“You could call. Reassure yourself that I’m fine, and this is just some boring savior complex you’re working through.”

“I lost the right to disturb you in the middle of the night a long time ago.”

House went still, and his eyebrows knit together: his own tell for surprise, he knew, but James’s face looked rueful, and his voice had turned soft and nostalgic, and he’d given up hope that James would ever remember their past together quite that fondly. Before Stacy, before Cindy and Julie, before Vicodin, when it had just been the two of them on James’s broad bed. They’d been much worse as lovers than they ever were as friends, but that didn’t mean House didn’t wake up in the middle of the night sometimes himself, disoriented, alone, and unaccountably hollowed out.

“You bother me all day long,” he said. “There’s no reason why just the fact that the sun’s down should stop you.”

James gave him a half smile, the one that meant he was more amused than he wanted House to know.

“I’m not your responsibility,” House warned him, “and I’m not your science-fair project.”

“I know that.”

People lied all the time to get what they wanted, even people who looked as sincere and good-intentioned as James did now, looking up at him. Hell, those were the people who lied to you the most. But lies could be the best way to the truth. Or at least to what House wanted, which was almost as good.

“Well, as long as we’re clear on that. Come by at nine with Chinese food. I have that bottle of Lagavulin Cuddy gave me for Christmas. There are a couple of treatments I’d like to try for that insomnia.”

James’s eyes lit up, and he let his half-smile grow wider. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“You’re damn right you will,” House said, and strolled out.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt House/Wilson: "No one wants to hear what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them."


End file.
